


Armor

by Intomyfireyoushallfall (scorpiontales)



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Serious Injuries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-04
Updated: 2016-07-04
Packaged: 2018-07-21 14:15:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7390507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scorpiontales/pseuds/Intomyfireyoushallfall
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cyclonus life as it was, and life as it is now.</p>
<p>Or a rescue mission we deserve. </p>
<p>(Post MTMTE 54)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Armor

**Author's Note:**

  * For [RenaRoo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RenaRoo/gifts).



> This is entirely Rena's fault.

Cyclonus woke up to find himself down two legs, surrounded by wreckage and smoke.

It wasn’t the worst situation he’d ever woke up in. Perhaps not even in the top ten, considering his varied war history. But it was always less than pleasant to look through a gap in some ship wreckage see your legs far out of reach. And that wasn’t even counting the pain. Which frankly wasn’t terrible, but after being almost shredded weeks back, few things registered as terrible anymore. 

If Cyclonus was willing to be reflective, he would likely realize such a pain tolerance was a sign of a life chaotically lived. Something to aspire to lose, if he got of this terrible planet and let himself live for once. If he could figure out how to live without a sword on his back, that was.

He dragged himself forward, moving himself towards the corner of the wreckage he was enclosed in. Part of a ship hull, he realized, and with a desperate sort of hope, he prayed it wasn’t from the Lost Light. Trying to get his legs would leave him without cover, and he wasn’t a fool, taking his sword from his back and setting it in his lap. Injured, and immobile. He was an easy target.

Holding the sword firm, he resolved to make attacking him a fool’s choice. 

The firefight had diminished outside, either due to a lull or a tactical retreat. It didn’t last for long, loud shouts echoing through and as he heard his comrades scream to arms, Cyclonus looked down at his sword and felt useless. Taken down with a crash in alt mode. An simple mistake, something to expect of a sparkling. What guardian was he, to fail at guarding his crew. His friends. His family.

He considered yelling out for help then decided better of it. Might attract the wrong kind of attention. He instead listened in on the firefight, waiting for a sound that could tell him how his side was fairing. How Tailgate was fairing.

The fool. He was not made for battle. And Cyclonus didn’t mean those words as in what Tailgate was actually created for. No, Tailgate was soft. Hopeful. He believed in people, despite how often the world let him down, he sought the best in each spark, and forged better bots out of hope and perseverance. He was a builder of warriors, not a destroyer. 

Cyclonus never wanted him in this battle. He wanted him on the ship, safe. To keep his naivety of war, no matter how much it vexed Cyclonus some days. He even asked it of him in a less direct way. 

“Are you staying?” Tailgate had replied. Before Cyclonus could respond, he spoke again. “Because if you are, I suppose I’m just going to have to leave without you and take out the trash myself.”

Even there terrible pun had not soothed Cyclonus anxiety. And he doubted anything would sooth the same anxiety now until he saw everyone on the ship alive and whole. 

There was a scream from outside, and Cyclonus tensed. He knew that scream, one of the bots from the ship. If they were in trouble he could draw attention to himself, distract the enemy to give them a better chance, or at least chance to run. Of course, to do so would to put himself in the firing line. 

Another scream. One from a bot not in pain, but close to a sword’s edge. So be it. 

Cyclonus let out a growl, a terrible noise that echoed, and let himself smile as he heard the other bot run for it to safety.

Noise echoed outside the wreckage and Cyclonus tensed, hearing the enemy get closer and closer. It only sounded like one, he must not have grabbed the attention of his comrades, but they sounded large. Hard to cut up with one slice of his sword. He would have to strike fast if he wanted to win this fight. Near the bottom of the wreckage he’d ducked under, he could see a foot, massive and unfamiliar. He clenched his sword. Hoped that the bot he saved may live through this, if he could not. 

There was a loud crunch from outside the wreckage. What looked to be talons dug into the steel over his head. Cyclonus steadied his sword. The roof began to lift up. 

And then a loud slam echoed from outside, the roof clattered back into place, and Cyclonus heard a voice from outside that was more welcome than any he’d heard in his existence. 

“Waste disposal here!” 

Cyclonus felt his anxiety vanish. Then return with a terrible sense of dread, curling itself into knots, because Tailgate was outside in a firefight with no combat experience, new powers of not. 

“Tailgate!”

There was only a second of pause before the wreckage was peeled away by said minibot. Who had his legs in his arms, looking rather terrified.

“Cyclonus!” Cyclonus resisted the urge to wince as Tailgate dropped said legs and rushed over to him almost buzzing. “I thought...I saw you crash...I thought...and the legs-”

Cyclonus knew what he thought. What he must of thought only seeing limbs and no bot nearby. With the men they were fighting the potential horror stories were endless. 

“I am sorry for worrying you,” Cyclonus said. He felt less present now. Likely from losing oil. He noticed a small scratch on Tailgate’s rotator cuff. “You’re injured.”

Tailgate looked at him for a moment. Then at the oil on the ground.

“Yes. I’m the one injured.” He sounded a little lost. As the firefight picked up again, he looked outside, then back at Cyclonus. “You need help. And we can’t stay here.” He reached down for Cyclonus’ legs and placed them in the other bot’s arms. “Can you hold onto these?”

Cyclonus nodded. He didn’t understand the question until a minute later when without a warning, Tailgate lifted him up, and speed out of there at full speed.

In later retellings of this incident, Tailgate would claim Cyclonus’ squeaked when picked up like such. Cyclonus would deny said story till the end of time. 

“Medic!” Tailgate cried as he dodged through the combatants, faster than Cyclonus thought possible. He was fast, too fast to hit.

“Tailgate put me down!”

“So you can crawl to the ship? Great idea.”

“I am not joking.”

“And I am not putting you down.”

“You are making yourself a target. Leave me before they kill us both.”

“I’ll keep that dramatic over the top idea in mind when I’m pretending to be you over the coms.” They got closer to the main ship and Cyclonus could see Rachet exit, ready for a new patient. “Rachet! Cyclonus is hurt! Bad!”

He wasn’t hurt bad, Cyclonus wanted to argue, but the way Rachet looked at his exposed wires was slightly alarming. The medic muttered something about being fried and blood loss, and as he cried for a berth for transport, Tailgate put him down. Headed back out into the field.

“Tailgate,” Cyclonus said because he meant every word he said to Whirl earlier about tearing the world asunder. “Tailgate-”

Tailgate looked back at him and Cyclonus saw it. That stubbornness as steel. That faith as an armor. That nativity tucked away for another day. 

“Tailgate,” Cyclonus said. “Come back safe.” Not the confession he wanted to give, but the confession that could live among the firefight around them.

Tailgate was still for a moment. Then waves, quick, and fleeting.

“I promise.”

Being carried back into the ship, spark damaged but curable under the medic’s hands, Cyclonus believed him. 

 


End file.
